


If There Was a Me for You

by westernredcedar



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: AU- they meet much later, Aging, Bitty is a commercial director, Body Image Discussions, Getting Together, Jack is retired, M/M, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-01-23 22:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12517984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westernredcedar/pseuds/westernredcedar
Summary: Jack Zimmermann is not an actor.





	1. Make-up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_one_that_fell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/gifts).



> This is for the_one_that_fell, who posted over on Tumblr a desire to see a sweet fic where Jack and Bitty get together when they are middle aged. I've been dying to work on this ever since she suggested it, so here's the start. More coming over the next few days!  
> The title is a They Might Be Giants lyric. The boys are all Ngozi's.  
> *hugs*
> 
> Recently added: **Amazing art by omgpieplease in Chapter One. Thank you, Matt!!**

Jack settled into the chair and the small woman behind him operated the lift with her foot until he was jolted up to the level that satisfied her.

“We’ll have you looking gorgeous in no time, Mr. Zimmermann,” she said, make-up brush in one hand and powder in the other. 

“Thanks,” Jack replied, eyeing himself in the big mirror. “I have some pretty dark circles under my eyes.”

“I have just the cover-up for that. Let me dig it up.”

He tried not to look at himself too hard. The lighting was excellent, and there was no hiding from the lines that had dug in around him mouth and eyes. The deep groove of worry between his brows was the worst, like a permanent scar from his years of anxiety. 

The toilet paper currently tucked around his collar to protect the fabric was really not helping the situation in the mirror, either. 

The make-up artist, an efficient woman named Shonda with long black dreds and a green apron filled with the tools of the trade, had wandered over to her supplies box to rummage around. 

Jack’s agent had promised this shoot would be quick and easy, a single shot for a luxury car commercial featuring famous retired hockey players. Jack hadn’t wanted to do it, but Alain argued that if he wanted to be seen as one of the greats, he was going to have show up every once in awhile.

Jack had finally decided to say yes when he realized he could visit his old family friends, the Krugmans, in LA while he was there. And a few days in the sunshine in mid-February wouldn’t hurt either. 

Tucked into the make-up trailer in front of this damning mirror, he wished he’d reconsidered. 

Shonda was just getting set up, brandishing her brush in front of Jack’s eyes, when the door to the trailer swung open and a cheerful voice called out, “Y’all decent in there?”

Shonda called back, “Decent enough, Bitty.”

Then she leaned in close to Jack’s ear. “You met Eric yet?”

Jack shook his head. 

The lilting voice said, “Mr. Zimmermann, I presume?” 

The speaker came into view in the mirror behind Jack, a smiling man with thinning blond hair that was just starting towards gray, wearing a stylish blue plaid button down and glasses. 

The man pushed his glasses up onto his head and their eyes met in the mirror. Really nice, brown eyes. Jack felt himself staring for a moment too long.

“Yes. I’m Jack.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Jack. Eric Bittle. I’m directing you today.”

“Oh. Hey.”

“Thank you so much for doing this. And don’t you fret, I promise it’ll be painless.”

“Good.”

Jack smiled and Eric Bittle grinned back at him, an action that literally involved his entire face. It was...kind of adorable.

“Well, I must say. Shonda has you lookin’ quite handsome.”

Shonda looked up and glanced at Jack. Jack cleared his throat. “Euh, actually. She hasn’t started.”

There was a slight pause before Eric Bittle let out a little laugh, his cheeks glowing pink in the mirror. “Well, lord, then I guess you’re just a handsome devil all the time.”

“It’ll be a few minutes still, Bits,” Shonda said, pinging looks between Jack and Eric in the mirror. 

“That’s fine. So...Jack,” Eric started again, regaining his composure and sitting down in the chair next to Jack, much more businesslike. “This is a very simple shoot. You’ll be in front of a plain backdrop. We're shooting black and white. We’ll get the lighting set, and then we’ll do a few takes of your line. You know your line, I assume?”

Shonda had started on his neck, so Jack only nodded slightly. “Legacy.”

“Yep, that’s it. Do you have any questions?”

Jack swallowed. Shonda started powdering his forehead. “I sometimes get real stiff in front of cameras.”

Eric smiled again. Jack could just barely see him out of the corner of his eye. “You know, I used to follow hockey back in the day. Even used to play. And honey, I’m afraid I already knew that about you.”

Jack felt his own cheeks heat at that.

“Don’t you worry. The whole concept behind this spot is that each player just says one word, no special talent required. But if it helps, I can reduce the crew while you shoot. Would that make you more comfortable?”

Jack shook his head and Shonda made a loud “tsk” as she tried to fix something that had smeared on his face. 

“I should be fine. I just wanted you to know. I’m not an actor.”

Eric Bittle snorted. “Oh, and all of the other hockey players I’ve been working with have been George Clooney?”

Shonda laughed at that, then quickly stifled herself. 

“You’ll be fine, honey. I can tell,” Eric added.

“I also shouldn’t stand for too long.” Jack nodded towards his cane, leaning against the wall by the door. “I brought my brace, though, so I think I’ll be fine.”

Eric eyed the cane for longer than Jack liked. “Would it work to sit on a stool?”

“Sure.”

“Then let’s do that, alright?”

“Thanks.”

There was pause in the conversation and Jack tried to focus on whatever Shonda was doing to his eyes. But Eric was still sitting there, staring at him. Jack could see him in the mirror.

“How long have you been retired now, anyhow?” Eric asked.

“Ten years. But my daughter plays, so I still have one toe in the game. She’s a goalie. Heading to UPenn in the fall.”

“Now that’s legacy.”

Jack smiled. “So you used to play?” Jack asked, before he had time to stop himself.

“Oh, just back in school. Long time ago. I loved skating.”

“Do you ever skate now? Are there even ice rinks in L.A.?”

Eric made a small, teasing noise of protest. “I’ll have you know, Jack Zimmermann, that there are...several...nay, many...ice rinks in the greater Los Angeles metropolitan area. You may have even heard we got our very own NHL franchise awhile back, known as the Kings?” 

“Fancy.”

“Don’t you sass me about California hockey, honey. I’m from Georgia. Talk about no interest! L.A. is a wonderland of hockey in comparison.”

“Heh.”

“Do you...can you skate anymore?” Eric’s voice was soft.

“Maybe after the next surgery.” Jack sighed. “But not right now. Otherwise, maybe I’d ask you to show me one of those rare and elusive L.A. rinks.”

Jack didn’t plan to say it, but it made Eric’s cheeks turn pink again.

“Well, that’s just too bad, now, isn’t it?” Eric replied softly, and Jack didn't know what to say to that.

Shonda cleared her throat. “Lips, please,” she said, getting between Jack and Eric and brandishing the lip brush. Jack stopped talking.

Eric stretched and stood up, the mood broken. “Well, I should get back out and make sure everyone’s ready for you, Jack. See you in a few.”

Jack could only nod.

When the door to the trailer shut. Shonda pulled back, eyebrows raised sky high, and dramatically waved her hand in front of her face. “Excuse me, hon. I just need to fan myself a bit. It got a little hot in here.”

Jack frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I haven’t seen so much flirting since the back row in eighth grade social studies.” 

Jack’s face warmed. “You think he was flirting with me?”

“No. I think you were flirting with each other. Weren’t you?”

Jack stuttered out, “I don’t...sometimes I don’t notice that sort of thing.”

Shonda stopped her ministrations and gave Jack a thoughtful look. “Sweetie, you two were flirting up this entire trailer. There’s been seven other hockey boys seated in this chair so far today, and he hasn’t sat down to chat with a single one of ‘em.”

“Oh.” Jack thought about this for a moment. ”Is he...someone who might flirt with me?”

“I’ve worked with Bitty for five years. So I think it’s fair to say...yes.”

“Oh.”

“You someone who might flirt back?”

Jack thought about that for a moment. He’d been single for a long time, through the many years now since the divorce. Marie was always pestering him to date again, though his son, Paul, rolled his eyes whenever his sister brought it up. He'd just turned forty-three. But still.

“Maybe?” he said, and Shonda grinned and shook her head.

“Lord be praised! Please ask that boy out,” she said, and then she went back to her finishing touches on Jack’s face.

Jack stared at himself in the mirror, heart pounding, and tried to see if there was anything Eric Bittle might find worthwhile under the layers of make-up hiding his many flaws. 


	2. Legacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update! More tomorrow. *hugs*

Jack wasn’t quite sure how he made it through the actual shoot. Eric was mostly a voice in the shadows, just beyond the camera, while Jack was posed and lit and fussed with. He hadn’t gone through this rigmarole often since his retirement. It was oddly nostalgic, like time traveling back fifteen years to a Falconer’s press day. Then he had to stare at the camera lens and say the word _legacy_ fourteen different times. 

After the fourteenth take, Eric’s cheerful lilt broke through. “Got it, Jack. You did great.” 

“That’s it?”

Eric Bittle emerged from the darkness beyond the lights, glasses still perched on his head, his smile just as bright. “That’s it. You can head to the trailer and turn back into a pumpkin.”

He gave Jack a little pat on the thigh as he dismissed him, and Jack twitched a bit at the touch.

“Do you...need to...should I just leave after that?” Jack stuttered quietly, hoping no one else on the crew could hear him. When he leaned close, Jack could see the fine laugh lines around Eric’s eyes. Such nice brown eyes.

“I’ll stop by in a minute. I need to get a few things settled out here. How’s that?” Eric whispered in reply.

Now that he was looking for it, Jack was suspicious this might be flirting again. He wished Shonda was nearby for a double-check. Maybe he could text Marie to see what she thought.

“Okay, sure,” Jack said, wrenching his knee brace into position so he could easily stand up and start to make his lumbering way back to the trailer.

*

Shonda had him all cleaned up in a couple of minutes. Jack changed into his jeans and old Falconers shirt, and had asked one of the production assistants to get him an ice pack for his knee just before Eric showed up. 

“You did great, Jack,” Eric said as he stepped up and into the room. “Like an old pro.”

Jack’s pulse beat a little faster at his voice. “Heh. Well, I am an old pro.” 

Eric’s laugh was like sunshine. “True enough, honey.” He took a seat on one of the vinyl-covered chairs along the wall. 

Jack looked at Eric again, at his kind face, his fidgeting, active hands, the one-too-many open buttons at the collar of his shirt. Jack settled back into the make-up chair, holding the ice in place. 

“So…” Eric started, “you catching a flight home tonight?”

Jack wished he was better at this; that was an opening. Even he knew that.

“Euh, no. My ex-wife has the kids until Friday. So.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’m...some old friends are having me over for dinner tonight in Westwood.” Shit. Jack was fairly certain explaining his plans was the polar opposite of flirting.

“Oh...that’s fun.” 

Jack was wandering into wishful thinking territory, but it was possible that Eric’s voice sounded _slightly_ disappointed.

“Sorry.”

Eric looked at Jack askance, as if trying to figure out what he might be apologizing for. He shook his head and said, “Nice that you have friends out here.”

“It’s the man I was named after, Laurent Krugman. He worked with my mother for ages, but I haven’t seen him for a few years. He just turned seventy, so I thought I should…”

Eric’s eyes had gone huge. “Laurent Krugman? Legendary Art Director Laurent Krugman?”

Jack smiled. “Yes, but I think he prefers to just go by Laurent.”

“Don’t you tease me. Honest to god, I would never imagine in a million years that a hockey player would even know the name Laurent Krugman. That man’s work makes my blackened and shriveled little artist’s heart try to beat again.”

Jack snorted. “He’s like an uncle to me.”

Eric’s cheeks were deep red now. He shook his head and Jack couldn’t keep his eyes off the way he was sucking in his lips as if he he were biting at them. “Lord almighty, Jack Zimmermann, who are you?”

“You could come with me. To dinner.”

The words were out before Jack was aware he was even thinking about it. 

Eric stared at him. Jack fumbled on.

“I mean, I was going to ask you anyway. To dinner. If I didn’t already have dinner plans. But I do. So you could come.” Jack swallowed hard to make himself stop talking.

“Oh lord, I couldn't impose.”

“No, sure you could. The Krugmans host these soirées. There will be other people there, not just me. Laurent’s husband Tony is a professor, so it's usually students or former students or people they’ve worked with. You’d fit right in.”

“You’re sweet, Jack, but I’m just a failed filmmaker who directs soulless television commercials for a living...”

Jack shrugged. “You would.”

Eric’s expression was almost sad. “You’re being awfully nice for a fellow who just met me an hour ago.”

“I don’t talk easily to people. But I like talking to you. I’ve been around long enough not to take that for granted.”

Eric stared down at his hands for a minute. “Would you really have asked me out to dinner?”

Jack paused and licked his dry lips. “Shonda said I should.”

Eric looked up, eyebrows raised, voice teasing. “Oh, well, if Shonda said.” 

Jack grinned.

“You sure I wouldn’t be an imposition?” 

“Sure.”

Eric Bittle breathed in deep and looked at Jack for a long moment through narrowed, inquisitive eyes. “Then let me wrap up here and let’s fucking attend a soirée, honey.”

*


	3. Traffic

**Jack** _I’m taking a date to Laurent and Tony’s_

 **Marie** _WHAT??? Holy shit, dad!! Where the hell did you find a date!!?!_

 **Jack** _Working on the commercial. Watch your language._

 **Marie** _okay, stay calm, stay calm. two questions_

 **Marie** _one, is this person a specific gender? If so, which one?_

 **Marie** _two, is this person aware that they are on a date with you? you can be abstruse, dad_

 **Jack** _Abstruce? Is that an SAT word?_

 **Marie** _answer the questions, father_

Jack quickly tucked away his phone as Eric opened the car door and hopped into the driver’s seat. 

Jack had planned to call a car service to take him over to the dinner, but once Eric had agreed to come, it made more sense for them to drive together. Jack rested in the trailer while Eric finished up. 

Shonda had stopped by once more to collect her gear. Before she left, she nudged Jack with her hip and winked. “Nice work, Romeo.” Jack hadn’t regained his composure quickly enough to respond. 

“Everything okay?” Eric asked, nodding towards the phone Jack had just jammed in his pocket.

Jack cleared his throat. “Just checking in with my daughter, Marie.”

“Is she back in Providence?”

“Yeah. Last few weeks of senior year, though, so she’s basically adrift in a sea of irresponsibility.”

“Oh, sounds like a blast,” Eric said with a smirk, putting the car into reverse.

“Yeah. She um...wants to be sure you know that I think this is a date.”

Eric didn’t miss a beat, not even glancing in Jack’s direction as he said, “Well, you tell her I wasn’t entirely sure at first, but now that I am, I’m just fine with that information.”

To cover the sudden rush of blood to his cheeks, Jack pulled out his phone. Eric started to back out of his parking space. 

**Jack** _He is a he. And he knows now._

 **Marie** _Oh my god, dad. What would you do without me. Is he cute?_

 **Jack** _Yes._

 **Marie** _I expect updates_

 **Jack** _Fine. How’s Paul?_

 **Marie** _Won’t talk to mom. Locked in his room with music blaring_

 **Marie** _he's either painting or jerking off_

 **Jack** _Marie-Elise_

 **Marie** _Love you dad. Go be on a date_

Jack tucked his phone away. “Sorry. Needed an update about my son as well. He’s...going through a phase.”

Eric glanced over. “How old is he?”

“Fifteen.”

“Oh lord. A phase at fifteen. Mine was competitive figure skating. I was a nightmare.”

“Heh. Weren’t we all?” 

Quiet settled in the car for a moment, broken only by the tinny voice of the GPS directing Eric off the lot. Jack was lost in thought for a moment, so it took over a block to realize that Eric was driving like a Boston cabbie. Oh god. He tried not to suck in his breath as they just missed the side of a public bus.

Even as he swerved through traffic, Eric was able to keep up a steady chatter. Jack got a good grip on the leather armrest and tried not to shout every time he thought they might crash.

“So, you were married?”

“Euh, yeah,” Jack managed to say as Eric squealed around a corner. 

“But you’re not anymore?”

Jack settled back into his seat, trying to relax. Eric was obviously a seasoned commuter, and knew what he was doing. But still. Jack took a shaky breath and started talking. 

“No, not for a long time. Getting married just seemed like the thing to do back then. All the guys on the team were engaged. I thought it was what I had to do, and Camille was there. I don’t have any regrets because I love my kids. But it wasn’t a good marriage.” Jack flinched as Eric pulled uncomfortably close to the SUV in front of them. 

“Wikipedia didn’t tell me any of that, hon.” Eric’s voice was steady, no hint of teasing.

Jack swallowed hard. “You read about me?”

“I’m afraid I did. Just a bit.” Eric glanced over at him, biting his lip. “Sorry. If you want, you can ask me somethin’ personal? Level the playing field?”

“It’s fine,” Jack said. 

“Go ahead and ask.”

“Well, you could tell me why you have a shriveled artist heart.” Jack had not been able to get that image from his mind.

Eric swerved around a slow car and accelerated again. Jack tried not to react. “Honey, I work in advertising. Everyone in advertising thought they were gonna be someone. It’s an entire industry of failed artists.”

“What were you going to be?”

“Oh lord, back in college I had a vlog. Remember when those were a thing? I thought I had something to say, about food and life and relationships. Even hockey, if you can believe it.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Oh yeah. But then one day I needed to actually pay my rent, and now almost twenty years later I’m selling Buicks and gum and trying to pretend like any of it matters. But it’s all meaningless.”

Jack watched the clench of Eric’s jaw as he spoke. 

“I get it,” Jack said. “I spent most of my life just playing a game as my job.”

Eric hit the brakes again, and Jack jolted against his seatbelt and back. Eric was staring at him, gaze fixed. “Oh no. That’s different, honey. Sure, winning a hockey game ain’t gonna bring about world peace or any such nonsense, but lord, your job had so much purpose. Sports, Jack, they give people a community, something to root for together. To cry over and scream about. Something to hope for and look forward to. I’m sure there are people out there who were literally livin’ for your games when you were playin’. That is something to be proud of, Jack Zimmermann.”

Jack couldn’t tear his eyes away from this man. He had to remind himself that they just met.

“You really think that?” Jack asked into the quiet of the car. 

“I surely do,” Eric said. 

The light turned green.

*

Laurent and Tony lived in a classic, hillside Spanish style house on a winding street above downtown Westwood. Eric gasped when he saw it, and then exclaimed to Jack about the view and the succulent garden and then hand painted tiles on the stairs and the fruit trees, all the way up the stairs to the front door.

Jack, who had come to this house off and on for his entire life, suddenly found himself looking at the place with completely new eyes. 

Eric was giving off a nervous buzz of energy at Jack’s side as they waited for someone to answer the door. 

“Oh lord, you’re sure I won’t be a…” Eric started, but then the door flew open.

Laurent Krugman was on the other side, tall and elegant, as always. He was wearing a lavender cashmere v-neck with a silky white scarf slung about his neck. Atop his bald head someone had placed a small and tasteful tiara. 

“Jacques, oh thank god!” Laurent announced in his deep bass, pulling Jack in for a hug. “It’s all poets here so far, lord help us all. Come in, come in.”

“Euh, Laurent?” Jack backed up to stand next to Eric. He had to fight an impulse to put his arm around Eric’s shoulders and pull him close as he introduced him. “This is Eric Bittle.”

Laurent looked Eric up and down. “You’re not a poet, are you?” he asked.

“No sir,” Eric replied. “But I am a sincere fan of your tiara.”

Laurent gave Eric an appraising once over and then grinned. “Well, then by all means, please come in.” 

Laurent bowed them in the door.

*


	4. Soirée

Laurent ushered them into the living room. As always, the mood, lighting, music, even temperature in the Krugman house was well thought out. Candles were set out around the room, and two lamps reflected just the right brightness to give the room a golden glow. A few other guests lounged around on the cozy clutter of sofas and armchairs. None of the pieces in the room were meant to go together, yet all of it worked. As Jack well knew, Laurent’s entire reason to get up in the morning was to create the perfect atmosphere, whether in his work or in his life. Jack’s mother was always trying something new with the furniture just after she’d talked with Laurent on the phone.

Next to Jack, Eric drew in a little breath. “Lord, when I try to pretty my place up for entertaining, it just looks like the showroom floor at IKEA. This is beautiful.”

Laurent waved off the compliment with a huff. “There are twelve things wrong with this room right now that I’m dying to fix, but I’m not allowed to fuss during a soirée. Let’s get you two introduced and settled. There’s three poets over in that corner who deserve a lengthy conversation about hockey stats immediately.”

Eric laughed, and the sound of it made Jack’s chest ache, just a little. 

*

“Are you having one?”

Eric was pouring himself a glass of wine at the bar as Jack approached. He looked very golden in the candlelight. Laurent had ushered them around for a minute until the doorbell rang again, and he had trotted off to welcome the next guests.

Jack propped himself up against the sideboard, tired of his cane for the moment. “I don’t drink much. I have a history.” He paused and then added, “I think you probably read about that on Wikipedia.”

Eric cocked his head to the side, looking at Jack appraisingly, then said, “Maybe I don’t believe everything I read?”

“Well, I don’t know what it says exactly, but the basics are probably true. It was all a long time ago now, though.” He cleared his throat and continued. “I do drink occasionally, though. And this seems like...an occasion. “

“You sure?”

Jack nodded.

“Well, then.”

Eric poured a modest second glass of white and handed it to Jack. Jack held it up in toast and Eric’s eyes met his. 

“To new friends,” Eric said, and lightly touched his glass to Jack’s. 

Jack sipped the wine rather than try to say anything more at that moment. He wasn’t sure what would come out if he tried to speak. 

Eric sipped his wine as well, and then settled in against the edge of the table next to Jack, his arm lightly brushing against Jack’s. Jack’s entire body startled at the contact.

“You know, your Wikipedia page was a damn good read. I learned about your advocacy for mental health care, and ‘bout how you came out right before you retired. I’d stopped followin’ hockey at that point, so I missed all the hubbub. That’s really something, Jack.”

“Just things I needed to do. Mostly for my kids.”

“How often do you see them?”

“My kids? Euh...all the time. I have primary custody.”

Eric closed his eyes for a minute and shook his head. “Oh lord, I didn't know. God, I’m an ass for assumin’, Jack.” 

“No. Most people do.” Jack sipped at his wine. “Their mom isn’t always...stable. She’s away a lot. When she’s up for it and feeling healthy, she takes weeks with them. Like now. But mostly the kids are with me. Since they were eight and five.”

Eric’s shoulder pressed in a little harder against his arm.

“How come each new thing I learn about you makes me like you a little bit more, Jack Zimmermann?” 

Jack didn’t have a clue how to respond to that. He couldn’t even look up from the floor for a moment. 

He was jolted back to the party by Laurent, suddenly at his side. “What are you boys drinking?” 

Eric shifted, standing up so that their shoulders no longer touched. “Well, it’s certainly wine. But beyond that I for one haven’t got a single clue,” Eric replied brightly. “Back home, wine was either box or bottle, and I’m afraid I never learned much more than that.”

Laurent snickered. “Don’t tell Tony, but I don’t know much more than that myself. But he’s got a whole cellar of the stuff, and I’m sure what you are pouring is magnificent and important for some reason. Vintage blah blah, and all that.”

“Yeah?” Eric said, swirling his wine and taking another sip. “Think he’d mind telling me about it?”

“Are you mad? Tony Krugman lives for someone to ask him about wine. Please do,” Laurent said. 

Eric gave Jack a little wink before he headed off to where Tony was enthroned in a leather chair, contemplating his own glass. Jack watched him go. 

Laurent hovered at Jack’s side, his eyes also following Eric as he walked away. “How come your mother hasn’t told me that you are seeing someone, Jack?” he asked quietly, leaning in close. 

Across the room, Eric settled in next to Tony, his face all animated curiosity. Tony immediately leaned forward, and Jack could almost hear his deep voice illuminating the wonders of Eric’s wine choice.

Jack swallowed. “We just met today.”

“Oh. Really,” Laurent drawled. 

Jack sipped his wine, and didn’t respond.

*

Dinner was served at the huge table Laurent and Tony had commissioned out of the heart of an elm that had to be taken down at Jack’s parents’ house in Montreal. Maman had told Jack all about the entire process, of course, but this was the first time Jack had seen the final product, a rustic, smooth, and elegant dining table that everyone was remarking on. 

Jack had grown up climbing this tree, and here it was now, forty years later, transformed. He ran his fingers along the edge of the wood and thought about change, and time. 

Eric sat next to him, keeping up a steady, cheerful conversation with their neighbors at the table, as if he’d been coming to these soirées for years. 

“Oh dear, bad news everyone,” Laurent said from the head of the table, as the meal started to wrap up. “Apparently our fruit tarte has taken a spill onto the floor of the kitchen, and we may have to suffer through without dessert.”

Amidst the chorus of, “What a shame,” and, “I’m too full to eat another bite,” that followed, Jack heard Eric clear his throat. 

“I could make us up something quick,” he said.

“Sorry, Mr. Bittle. What was that?” 

“Give me a few minutes and I can put together something. It’s…” Here he paused and looked at Jack for a moment, as if asking if he’d gone too far. “It’s my hobby, baking. It would likely just be something small. If you don’t mind.”

Laurent’s eyebrows were halfway to his tiara during this speech, and his gaze was fixed, not on Eric, but on Jack. “How could we turn down such an offer? So many talents, young man. Our kitchen is yours!”

There was a smattering of applause as Eric rose from the table. 

“Refill my wine glass and come with me,” he whispered to Jack as he stood. 

Jack waited only a moment, then grabbed their glasses and followed. 

*

After scouring the pantry and refrigerator, Eric had started pulling out ingredients for a batter. Then he’d set Jack up at the stove, stirring something that Jack was fairly certain was meant to become a caramel sauce eventually, with stern admonition not to slow or stop his stirring under any circumstances, while he got the cookies going.

Jack had watched Eric manage a commercial shoot all afternoon, so he wasn’t sure why watching him commandeer a kitchen was making his heart race so fast. But it was.

“Where d’you suppose you’d be if you were tin foil?” Eric asked.

Jack didn’t stop his stirring, but reached out and tapped a drawer with his foot. “Here.”

Eric crouched down and extracted the foil from the drawer. “Is there anything you don't know, honey?”

Jack laughed. “Less and less every year.”

“Ain’t that the truth, lord,” Eric said, back to his cookie sheets. “I’d give up my left nut for this gorgeous oven. I mean honestly.”

“When did you start baking?” Jack asked, suddenly needing to change the subject.

“One of those darn teenage phases that just never went away, actually. My mama was a great baker, and I learned from her, mostly.”

“Huh.”

It fell quiet for a moment. Jack peeked over his shoulder. Eric was carefully measuring out cookies onto the first sheet.

“Do you ever cook with your kids?” Eric asked without looking up.

Jack returned his attention to his sauce stirring. “They’d tell you I’m mediocre at best. Lots of microwave meals and roasts. I’m good with a roast. Paul's good with stir-fry.”

“You raised two kids on your own, Jack. That’s really something.”

Jack shrugged. “Marie was old enough, almost nine, when everything happened with my knee and the divorce. Sometimes I wonder how I would have done if my kids had been different. Marie especially. She keeps me together half the time.”

The sound of the oven door opening and closing made Jack turn around again to look. “First batch in. Let’s see that sauce.”

Eric crossed the kitchen and nudged Jack out of the way with his hip, which, in his slightly warmed state from the wine and company, made Jack’s stomach flip. 

Eric stirred the caramel a few times. “Perfect. Just needs to cool a few minutes while the cookies finish up.” 

Jack settled onto one of the stools at the kitchen island, his knee aching. He tried to stifle it, but a yawn crept up on him. Eric pulled up a stool next to him.

“You need to go soon? You look done in.”

“What time is it?” Jack asked.

Eric glanced at the clock on the stove. “Looks like...nine thirty.”

“Past my bedtime,” Jack said, “especially with the time change.”

“Oh you poor thing. I forgot about that. We can go as soon as these cookies are done. I’m so sorry I got into this whole project without askin’.”

Jack was exhausted, that was true. But something else was true as well. “No. I don’t want to go.”

Eric reached for his wine glass. “No?”

“No.”

Eric knocked back the last of his wine in one gulp, and then looked Jack in the eye. 

“Even if it was back to my place?”

Jack swallowed, and didn’t break the gaze. “Yeah?”

“You got no reason to believe me, but I ain’t ever forward like this. Hell, Jack, I’ve hardly had a date in the last year. But fuck it, I like you a whole lot, and there’s just no reason on god’s green earth not to tell you that.”

“I haven’t had a date in five years,” Jack replied, hoping he was saying the right thing.

The laugh lines around Eric’s eyes crinkled. “Well that just sounds made up.” 

“That’s what my daughter tells me. She’s always saying there’s someone out there for me.”

“Maybe she’s right.”

There was a pause, like the entire room needed to take a breath. Eric was so close, and all they needed to do was lean in, just a little.

Eric’s lips were soft and pliant against his, so sweet and new. Then again. And again. Jack melted into the kisses, with the sweet scent of cookies flavoring the air.

*

In the end, the dessert was the hit of the evening.

After they were rudely interrupted by the timer, Eric had pulled away, one hand dragging along Jack’s cheek and jaw, mouthing a regretful, “Shit,” against Jack’s lips, then hopped up to pull the cookies from the oven.

Jack, meanwhile, had stayed solidly put on his stool, just trying to sort out his thoughts and settle his embarrassingly over-reactive body. 

Laurent had come in a minute later to check on their progress, and Jack was certain he could tell everything, just from a glance. The consummate host, however, he just jumped right in, helping Eric assemble the final course: lace cookies on a scoop of ice cream with a caramel drizzle. Laurent even dug up some raspberries left over from making the original, destroyed tarte, to add a little color. 

Jack ate his dessert but hardly tasted it. 

Eric sat next to him, his hands kept firmly to himself, maintaining the same gentle, friendly banter with the other guests. But to Jack, the world felt all new. 

Jack let his fingers trace along the edge of the elm wood table.

"You ready, Jack?" Eric asked into Jack's ear, when their bowls were empty.

"Yes," Jack said, voice low. Ready. 

"I think I'm a little tipsy still, though. Could you drive?"

Jack breathed a sigh of relief. "Sure."

*

At the door, Laurent hugged them both, and whispered in Jack's ear, "I like him."

Jack nodded, and looked at Eric, a dark silhouette waiting just ahead on the walkway.

"Yeah," he said. "Me too."


	5. Coffee

As they walked down the stairs outside of the Krugmans, Eric hooked one hand around Jack’s elbow and held on, seemingly to steady himself. Jack’s heart hammered hard enough that it felt like Eric must be able to feel it through his skin.

The night air had a chill, just enough to remind Jack that it was still late winter, that the edge of spring was only peeking over the horizon. It was nice to have someone warm, tucked in right next to him.

When they reached the car, Eric let go, handing Jack the keys. 

As Jack unlocked the car doors, his text alert buzzed.

 **Marie** _I feel I should inform you that Uncle Laurent just texted me and Gramma. Apparently he’s madly in love with this guy you’re with. FYI._

Jack shook his head and quickly locked his phone without responding. 

“Daughter again?” Eric asked from the passenger seat.

“Yep. Just checking in.”

“Shouldn’t she be asleep?” 

Jack pulled himself in behind the wheel and looked at the clock on the dash. “Good point.” He pulled his phone back out. “Sorry, do you mind…?”

Eric looked him and smiled. “You go ahead, honey.”

Jack’s heart did a little flip.

 **Jack** _Shouldn’t you be asleep?_

 **Marie** _HOW CAN I SLEEP?_

 **Jack** _Did Paul come out of his room?_

 **Marie** _About two hours ago. He painted a portrait of you dad. You’ll love it. Made mom cry. Don’t change the subject._

 **Jack** _Bad cry?_

 **Marie** _No. Proud cry. Still changing the subject._

 **Jack** _Just wanted to say good night._

 **Marie** _Does this guy have a name?_

 **Jack** _Yes, he does._

 **Marie** _Dammit, father. Why am I related to you?_

 **Jack** _You have to be at the gym in four hours. I promise I’ll call tomorrow._

 **Marie** _oh my god. are you still with him right now? Oh My God._

 **Jack** _Good night._

 **Marie** _Use condoms._

Jack read the last message and immediately turned his phone all the way off. 

“Ready?” he asked, his voice coming out a little high pitched. He cleared his throat and turned the ignition.

Eric was sunk into the passenger seat, reading glasses back on, also taking the moment to text someone. He looked up. 

“Sure am.” Eric tucked his own phone away and looked at Jack over the top of his glasses. “Everything alright at home?” 

“The usual,” Jack replied. “Everything okay for you?”

“I was just texting my friends Justin and Adam. We were maybe gonna meet up, so I was just letting them know where I was.”

Jack felt himself deflate. “Oh. Do you want… We could… Or you could just drop me at my hotel and...?”

Eric knocked his knuckles gently against Jack’s shoulder and looked up at him, removing his glasses, eyes soft. “Hey you,” he said. “I don’t wanna go anywhere else right now. Besides…”

Eric’s voice faded out and he stared out the front windshield.

“What?” Jack could feel the creeping edge of worry trying to get a foothold.

Eric straightened himself up in his seat and pulled on his seat belt. “Oh nothin’. I was about to say something presumptuous but I stopped myself just in time. A little trick I’ve been learnin’ how to do now that I’m a grown-up.” He smiled at Jack, just a little flicker across his lips that made Jack able to breathe a little easier.

“What was it?”

Eric looked back at him. He took an audible breath through his nose. “I was gonna say...maybe we could meet up with them tomorrow morning.”

Jack blinked, needing a moment. His entire body warmed. “Maybe we could. You should text them that.”

Eric didn’t move, just kept his huge eyes on Jack's face. “Oh lord, I’m gonna kiss you again. That okay?” 

Jack nodded. 

This time, the kisses didn’t stay quite as chaste.

*

Eventually, what with the awkward angle in the car wrenching Jack’s knee, and the center console in the way, Jack needed to pull away and stretch his back. 

“Sorry. I think we should get going.”

Eric’s hand lingered on Jack’s arm, but he nodded. “Makin’ out in a car isn’t all it’s advertised, that’s for sure.”

Jack snorted.

They got themselves on the road. Eric navigated. Jack followed all posted speed limits and signs. 

*

Eric lived in a cute little apartment complex in Echo Park. Eric took a moment to grab his work bag and few other things out of the back of his car. 

“I’ve thought about buyin’ a house over the years, but I don’t need more space for just me. And I love my place. I’ve been here over fifteen years.”

The building was stucco, with a courtyard in the middle. As they walked in past the little palms, Jack pulled up short. His twinges of worry in the car were starting to stack up.

“I don’t have any expectations about anything,” Jack said.

Eric stopped and turned to face him.

Jack stammered on. “We just met, and it’s been a really long time for me since I felt any...I mean…”

Eric put his hand gently on Jack arm. “Breathe, honey.”

Jack took a deep breath, and managed to get his thought to coalesce into something he could say aloud. “I don’t want this to end. But we don’t have to...move too fast, or...I want to see you again, after tonight. I plan to. If you want to.” 

He could feel Marie rolling her eyes at him from all the way across the country.

Eric rubbed his fingers a little against Jack arm, and he leaned up on his toes to lightly brush a kiss against Jack’s lips. “I want that too,” he said. “And I don’t have any expectations either, Jack. Why don’t we just go make some coffee and then see what happens after that?”

Jack stared at this man who he didn’t even know twelve hours ago, and nodded.

*

Eric’s apartment was small, but Jack could not agree with him that it didn’t have style. In fact, he could almost hear Laurent’s approving murmurs as Eric showed him around: tasteful mid-century furniture choices, original art on all of the walls, wood floors and colorful rugs. Lots of plants. Comfortable, lived-in, but intentional. 

Eric stopped in the kitchen for a moment to start the coffee maker and pull out a Tupperware of what looked like scones. Jack leaned in the arched doorway, just watching him. 

“Have you always lived alone?” he asked.

“Not in college, or right after. But since I’ve been in L.A.? It’s just been me.” Eric was arranging the scones on a small plate.

“This is all you,” Jack said, looking around again.

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” he said, grabbing the plate and two mugs and nodding his head towards the living room. “Shall we? Coffee will be up in five.”

They settled onto the sofa. Eric sat at one end, slipped off his shoes, and turned himself to the side, pulling up his knees and sliding his feet down to tuck in along the edge of Jack’s thigh. Without thinking too hard, Jack let one hand settle into the space under Eric’s legs and around his bare ankle. 

“What’s your home like, Jack?” 

Jack thought for a moment. “Too big. Tudor. Right next to a big park. Three-car garage. Camille hired a decorator when we bought it.” He paused, his eyes fixed on a gorgeous print on Eric’s wall, a back and white figure study of a man’s back and shoulders. “There are parts of it that are me. Not all.”

“It’s a family house, though. Right? Shouldn’t be all you. You’ve learned how to leave room for other people.” Eric’s toes wriggled their way a little deeper beneath Jack's thigh. “I’m not sure how good I am at that.”

“You’re inviting me in,” Jack said.

Eric bit at his lower lip for a moment and then said, “I am.”

A faint beeping tune floated out from the kitchen into the quiet that followed. 

“Coffee?” Eric asked, hopping up.

“Yes, please,” Jack said, his mind whirling.

*

Eric walked back into the room a minute later, carrying the pot of coffee. 

Jack let him put it down on the table, but then reached out and grabbed his hand and tugged gently. 

Eric turned to him. “You need something?” 

Jack nodded. “Come here?”

Eric allowed Jack to reel him forward until his knees were pressed right up against Jack’s. Then Jack kept tugging.

“What’er you doing?” Eric asked with a grin.

“As long as you don’t sit right on my knee,” Jack said, “You could…” Jack moved a little to give Eric room to slide his knees up onto the couch on either side of Jack’s legs.

Eric’s smile went all of the way to his eyelashes. “So no coffee right now, I take it?”

“Maybe in a little while?” 

“Oh lord, Jack Zimmermann, you do have a way of looking at a fellow.” Eric shook his head and then eased himself down so that he was perched lightly on Jack’s thighs. Their mouths met, hungry and new.

Jack wanted his hands to be everywhere at once: wrapped around Eric’s back, tangled up in his hair, rubbing against his chest. He settled for one at a time. 

They nestled in against each other like they planned to stay there, just kissing, for the rest of the night. Jack wasn’t sure how much time was passing, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the feel of Eric’s lips against his, the hot press of his mouth, his hands exploring Jack’s jaw, hair, along his waist.

Eventually, Eric’s fingers found their way up and under Jack shirt, kneading against the fleshy part his lower back. Jack felt himself tense a little in response.

“Can I take this off you?” Eric whispered against Jack jaw, gently tugging up even more of his shirt.

Jack’s body froze. “Euh…”

Eric sensed his discomfort instantly and pulled back a little. “Sorry. If that’s too much, it’s fine, hon.”

Jack shook his head. Eric’s hand were still slowly circling on Jack’s skin. 

“It’s just...I don’t look...I haven’t been able to properly exercise in over a year.”

Eric gave him a wry smile. “I shudder to think what you might consider proper exercise, Jack.”

Jack smiled at that. “My daughter has suggested I might not want to take my shirt off in public anymore.”

Eric’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, shit, hon. That is the first thing you’ve told me about her that I don’t fully approve of.”

“She’s my kid. She’s mortally embarrassed by everything about me,” Jack added, and Eric laughed. “But it’s not just Marie. I don’t look the way I used too. And I’m still...getting used to it.” 

Eric leaned in and kissed Jack again, lips soft, hands still exploring his back. “I want you to be comfortable, Jack. But lord, I don’t need you to look like some sort of sculpted Adonis. Those days are long gone for me as well. I just want to be with you. So you leave that shirt on or take it off, but I’m not gonna care. In fact,” here his voice dropped low, “I think I’ll like it.”

Jack let himself breathe for a few seconds, allowing the panic to ease out of his muscles. “Yeah?”

Eric nodded. “Yeah.”

Jack swallowed hard and reached for the hem of his t-shirt, then paused. “Also...I used to maintain, but since it’s been so long...as I’ve gotten older...I’m pretty...hairy?”

Eric’s eyes widened and he made a little 'ooo'ing sound that Jack could only interpret as…excited interest?

“Sweetheart, um...I love body hair.”

Jack’s heart started pounding a little harder. 

Eric went on, his cheeks bright red. “Maybe it’s just jealousy because I don’t hardly have any. I think I missed a few hormones in puberty.”

Jack laughed. “Even shoulders, though? I think the hair I’m losing off the top of my head is just migrating downwards.”

Eric pitched his voice low, right into Jack’s ear. “Even shoulders.”

Eric leaned back to give Jack room and started unbuttoning his own shirt. Jack took one more breath before reaching down and yanking his t-shirt over his head. As soon as it was off, Eric was all over him, lips and hands on Jack’s thick belly and rounded shoulders, tugging a little at the hair there, and it was so fucking good to feel someone touching him that Jack had to lean his head back against the sofa and gasp. 

Eric’s shirt was off next, and Jack took a moment to stare. He was thin and very pale, chest a little concave, with a lovely little indent down the middle where Jack let his tongue drag along. Eric made the best noises when he did that. 

The feel of skin pressed up against his chest, and Jack was lost.

“Can I go down on you?” Eric asked after an endless time just kissing and touching. 

Jack didn’t even tense up this time. This was all too good. “Fuck, yes. As long as I get to do you after.”

“Oh lord,” Eric said. “What the hell are we getting into?”

Jack only grunted an amused reply before Eric’s mouth was on him and he couldn’t talk anymore.

*


	6. Morning

Jack woke up at four a.m., as usual. 

It took a few moments to rediscover where he was, that he was naked, and in an unfamiliar bed, and that the glasses on the bedside table were not his. 

Eric was curled up, his back to Jack, still asleep next to him. 

God, he hoped he hadn’t messed this up. Maybe they should have said goodnight, saved the sex for another day? It didn’t feel messed up to Jack, but he hadn’t done anything like this for years. What did he know? 

Jack knew himself well enough to know he was awake. There would be no falling back to sleep at this hour. His knee was screaming. 

He slipped out of the bed as quietly as he could. It was chilly outside of the covers, so he limped his way to the living room to retrieve his jockeys and pull on his shirt. In the kitchen, he poked around in the freezer and found a blue ice pack, which he wrapped in paper towels and brought to the living room. He fell to perusing Eric’s bookshelves, finally selecting one about cinematography that looked interesting, then settled on the sofa under a throw. He got the ice pack settled on his knee, and hoped that reading might distract from the pain.

It was that silent time of the early morning, his favorite, the realm of insomniacs, runners, and new parents. Jack had lived as all three for many years. 

His eyes slid along the text of the book, but his mind was distracted. He’d met someone he really liked, a grown-up with a real job and a normal life, who didn’t seem to want anything in particular from him, and they’d had sex. This had happened. If Jack wanted to, he was fairly certain he could head back into the bedroom and they might have sex again. But he was in Los Angeles for exactly thirty-six more hours, and Eric lived here, and Jack lived in Providence with his kids, and... fuck.

He refocused on the book in his hands. 

*

A couple of hours later, Jack was halfway through the chapter on lenses when Eric staggered out to the living room. He was wearing underwear but nothing else, and he looked right past Jack at first. 

“Hey,” Jack said quietly, from his cocoon on the sofa.

Eric jumped. “Shit, oh lord.” He clutched his chest and took a moment before he looked over at Jack again. “You’re still here.”

Jack’s heart ratcheted up a notch at the idea that Eric thought he might have left. “Sorry. I wake up really early and I didn’t want to disturb you. I’ve been reading.” Jack held up the book. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Eric padded across the room and sat down next to Jack’s feet. “I don’t mind at all. I was…”

“What?”

“I was real sad when I thought you’d gone.”

Jack set the book on the coffee table and reached out his arm. Eric eased over into it, in the small crevice left between Jack’s body and the back of the sofa, mostly on top of Jack. 

“I don’t want to go at all,” Jack said, has arm wrapping around Eric’s bare shoulders and holding him close.

“This is all kinds of crazy, right?”

“Surprising, I suppose,” Jack replied. “But it doesn’t feel crazy to me. Does it to you?”

Eric was quiet for a moment. “A little. But it feels great.”

Eric turned his face up towards Jack, and Jack leaned down and pressed a soft kiss into Eric’s lips. 

“I was about to make a fresh pot of coffee, hon,” Eric said, leaning his chin onto Jack’s chest. “You want some?”

“You did promise me coffee.”

Eric nodded towards the table. “No sass, you. It’s right there.” The cold coffee pot and empty mugs from the night before were still sitting there in anticipation. 

Jack smiled and kissed Eric again. 

*

The sun was up by the time the coffee was ready. Jack had settled in at the little kitchen table by the window while Eric puttered around making them some eggs and toast. 

“When do you have to be at work?” Jack asked, sipping his coffee.

“It’s an easy day, honestly. I have a phone call at noon, and I need to be in for a post-production meeting at one. But that’s all. I get busy again tomorrow when we start post.”

“What about your friends?” Jack asked. 

“Hmm?”

“The ones we are going out with?” 

Eric looked confused for a moment, then his eyes got big and he grabbed his phone where it was plugged in on the counter. “Oh lord, those two are gonna be chirpin’ me to high heaven this morning. You should know they both played hockey back in college. You really want to meet ‘em?”

Jack shrugged. He just didn't want this to end. “Sure.”

Eric looked at the clock and then started tapping into his phone. “Justin will be awake. Maybe we can meet them around eleven, have an early lunch?”

“Okay.”

Eric paused and looked at Jack, his head cocked to the side. “You don’t have anywhere to be?”

“I was gonna call an old friend who lives out here now, see if he was available, but he doesn’t even know I’m in town. So, no. I don’t have any plans. I should go to my hotel room at some point and change.”

Eric brought two plates to the table. “Here ya go. Eggs scrambled with feta and spinach, and whole wheat toast. I made the bread two nights ago.”

Jack stared at his plate. “This looks great.”

“Well, I wasn't planning on company so I had to improvise, now didn’t I?”

“What? You don’t do this all the time?” Jack teased.

Eric shook his head and chirped right back. “Now that you mention it. I suppose this is the wrong time to tell you I had Gretzky here night before last, huh?”

Jack laughed. “Well. One should never turn down a night with Gretzky.”

“You NHL types are all the same. You and your art director friends, all soirées and reading about cinematography…”

Eric nudged Jack with his shoulder, and Jack nudged him in return. 

The food was as good as it looked, creamy eggs and homemade toast with lots of butter. Jack tried not to overdo the compliments, but it was honestly the most delicious breakfast he had eaten in years. 

How had he found himself here with this man?

As they ate, Eric’s knee and ankle kept knocking against Jack’s under the table. Maybe it was accidental at first, but after a few minutes, Jack just reached down and placed a steadying hand on Eric’s thigh. Eric looked over at him, his cheeks pink. 

Eric’s hand met Jack’s, and he laced their fingers together. Whatever this was, Jack could feel them diving into it together.

He took another bite, Eric’s hand in his. 

*

Jack volunteered to do the dishes while Eric texted his friends and cleaned up the remaining evidence of their previous evening. 

Jack was still scrubbing out the egg pan when Eric’s arm snaked around his waist and his warm body pressed up against his back. 

“This okay?” Eric asked into Jack’s shirt. 

Jack wriggled back a little against Eric and said, “You might get suds.”

“I’ll risk it.”

Eric stayed plastered there, his lips at the back of Jack’s neck, his hands rubbing maddeningly against Jack’s belly and chest, until Jack put the last pan onto the drying rack. Then Jack carefully turned himself around in Eric’s arms until they were face to face. 

“Hey.”

“It’s real easy, having you here,” Eric said, and then pulled up on onto his toes to kiss Jack, open-mouthed and wanting. There was no doubt of his intentions.

“Is there time?” Jack asked, letting one pruney finger trace along Eric’s cheek. 

“Hours,” Eric said, his voice soft.

*

The second time was even better. The morning light, and not being exhausted or insecure or swept away. Jack didn’t even hesitate as they tumbled back into the bedroom and Eric tugged at his shirt until it was off and tossed aside. They talked the whole time, right through it all: “Do you like this?” and “Is your knee alright?” and “Shit, that’s uncomfortable,” and, “Do you wanna try…?”

After mouths and hands and skin and a few embarrassing noises and one long laughing fit, they got each other off with mutual handjobs, tangled up together and hardly able to breathe through the kisses. 

Collapsed together on Eric’s bed, Jack ran his fingers through his own hair, trying to catch his breath. 

“Lord, I like you, Jack Zimmermann,” Eric murmured to the ceiling, one arm still flung across Jack’s chest.

“That’s good,” Jack panted. “I like you too.”

Eric found some miraculous store of energy and rolled himself up onto Jack’s chest, matching legs and bellies and dicks, and kissed Jack again. And again.

*

Jack was ready before Eric, who was still in the bathroom doing something to his hair. Jack took the moment to turn his phone back on. The long string of text alerts was alarming. 

**Marie** _Dad?_

**Marie** _You turned your phone off, didn’t you? Dammit._

**Marie** _Good morning, dear father. Update time!_

**Marie** _Call your children. We miss you. And have questions._

**Laurent** _It was a sincere pleasure to see you last night, Jacques, and your dear, dessert-chef friend Mr. Bittle, as well. I hope we will see more of you both…_

**Maman** _What’s this I hear from Laurent about a cute director, Jack? Call when you can._

**Marie** _I’m back from the gym and I have to drive Paul to school and get to class and TURN ON YOUR PHONE_

And the rarest of all:

**Paul** _You had a date?_

He knew Marie would be livid, but Jack couldn’t resist replying to his silent son first.

**Jack** _I did._

There was a short pause before Paul texted back.

**Paul** _Eww_

Jack snickered to himself, alone on Eric’s sofa. He could imagine Paul’s scowl.

**Jack** _Thanks for the support, kiddo._

**Paul** _Please never speak of it again_

**Jack** _No promises there, and by the way, you asked_

**Paul** _Lesson learned_

Eric came trotting out from the back just as Jack received Paul's last text. He could feel the giddy smile on his face. It was the longest text exchange he'd had with Paul for months.

"Ready to head over to your hotel?" Eric asked, grabbing his work bag and then giving Jack a curious look. "What has you so happy?"

Jack didn't know what to say exactly. It was all too much. He settled for stowing his phone in his pocket, standing up, and kissing Eric Bittle once more, for good measure. 

*


	7. Lunch

Eric wanted to run a few errands, and Jack needed to shower and change (and take a breath, even though he didn’t really want to), so they agreed that Eric would drop Jack off and then come back to the hotel and pick him up for their lunch date in an hour. 

Eric smiled, almost sadly, and squeezed Jack’s hand before Jack eased himself out of the car with his cane. It felt like a risk, somehow, to let Eric drive away, like some sort of magic between them would be broken. Or, more likely, that Eric would have the chance to wise up and realize the folly of getting involved with a divorced father of two who lived on the other side of the country.

“Just text me and I’ll be out front,” Jack said, leaning through the car window. His heart was beating fast.

“I will,” Eric said. He paused a minute, like he was about to say more, then smiled at Jack and shifted the car into drive. 

Jack watched him drive away.

His hotel room looked huge and empty on his return, small travel bag tucked in one corner, the bed not slept in. Jack put out the _Do Not Disturb_ sign, threw off his clothes, and stood in the hot shower for as long as his knee could stand it, trying to wash off his gnawing insecurity. 

He spent longer than usual just staring at himself in the foggy mirror as he shaved, tidied his hair, and got himself smelling decent. 

Eric Bittle liked him, despite what Jack could see in the glass, despite his sad history and bum knee. That seemed clear. Jack tried that thought out for a while. It settled onto him like a warm blanket.

Jack sat down on the edge of the bed in his towel, looked at the time, then pulled out his phone and called Marie.

“Dad! Oh my god.” 

“Hey, Squirt. Is it your free period?”

“Yeah. I’m just doing some reading with Cam.”

“Reading, huh?”

“I am! But oh my god, Dad. Spill. What is going on?”

Jack could hear at least one other voice in the background. 

“I met someone. That’s all.”

“ _That’s all_ ,” Marie muttered, and Jack could almost hear her rolling her eyes. “And his name is?”

Jack took a deep breath. “Eric.”

“Okay, that’s decent, I can work with that. Eric.”

Jack could feel himself getting swept up in her hopefulness. His face felt flushed. 

“I don’t know what’s going to happen in the long run, Marie. We just met.”

“Dad, you’ve never texted me about some person you met that you liked. Ever.”

“I know.”

“So this is a thing. Don’t deny it. Are you gonna see him again before you leave?”

Jack swallowed. “Euh, yeah.”

Marie let out a little squeal, and Jack could hear a clamor of other voices in the background, probably Marie’s friend Cam and whatever gaggle of their classmates they were hanging out with today. Now he was the subject of teenage gossip in Providence, Rhode Island. Well, he’d been that before. The girls had tried to set him up with at least three divorced moms who’d expressed interest and availability over the years. Jack closed his eyes.

“Marie-Elise Zimmermann, don’t get ahead of yourself, please.”

“I’m just happy for you, Dad. Let me be happy for you? Just for a minute?”

Jack let himself smile. “Okay.”

“However, I don’t forgive you for texting Paul instead of me this morning.”

“At least that means he spoke to you.” Jack’s son had been in this moody silent phase for the last three months. Jack suspected that a relationship was involved, but he hadn’t yet figured out how to ask.

“Only to gloat.”

Jack could hear a loud chime in the background.

“Shit, Dad. Gotta go to class. Tell this _Eric_ that he should text me. He's the fucking luckiest dude on the planet, okay?”

Tears sprang to Jack’s eyes. “Language, please, Marie-Elise.”

“Whatever! Love you!”

The call ended. Jack closed his eyes and let himself feel for a moment just how much he loved his children. 

*

Jack was just getting his knee brace back in place over his jeans when his text alert buzzed. He couldn’t breathe for a moment, fixated on the idea that Eric had now had plenty of time for second-thoughts.

Jack opened his texts. 

**Eric** _Back in five minutes! You ready?_

Jack stared at the screen and read the message three times, just to be sure. 

**Jack** _Yes. I’ll be down._

 **Eric** _Great!_

When Eric squealed up into the space clearly marked _Taxis Only_ in front of the hotel, Jack could see his smile through the windshield. 

Jack got himself awkwardly settled into the passenger seat, his cane at his side. When he looked over, Eric was gazing at him with soft eyes. 

“I’m glad you still want to do this,” Eric said, sort of quiet and tentative, and it occurred to Jack that maybe Eric was just as worried as he was.

“Well, I’m really glad you came back,” Jack admitted.

Eric leaned over, and Jack met him partway, into a sweet, lingering kiss that Jack could feel in his fingertips. 

“Oh lord. Lunch, I suppose,” Eric said, pulling back just a few inches, his voice husky, his eyes boring into Jack’s.

“Your friends are waiting,” Jack said, and Eric responded with a pout.

“They are lucky I like them so much.” He kissed Jack once more, and then pulled away from the curb. 

A cab driver laid on his horn as they pulled away, and Eric casually flipped him off. Jack had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

*

On the way over, Eric regaled Jack with the history of his friendship with Justin and Adam, the two men they were meeting for lunch. Jack just leaned back and listened, focusing on Eric’s words to avoid the mortal terror of paying any attention to his driving.

“...so after med school, Justin matched for residency at UCLA and they moved out here together. Adam started writing for TV a few years ago. He’s between series right now, but I think something starts in the summer?”

“So...are they a couple?” Jack interrupted. In Eric’s ten minute monologue about their college years, hockey team, and life after school, he hadn’t been able to suss that out. And he wanted to know. Maybe, he let himself think, if things worked out, these might be his friends too, someday. 

“Now, you’d think that would be an easy question for me to answer, but honest to god, these two…” Eric shook his head, eyes on the road. “The short answer is yes, absolutely. They are committed life partners, live together, and have lots of great sex, far as I can tell.”

Jack frowned. “But…?”

“Well, they also take breaks, and have other relationships, and all sorts of shenanigans that I can hardly keep track of. Adam had this girlfriend named Claudine for like, the past year? And a few years ago Justin was gone for two years doing genetics research in Iceland, and they just took time away from each other with no issues? I don’t know. They are miraculous.”

Jack snorted. “Sounds like.”

“You’ll see.”

“They sound lucky. To have found each other,” Jack said, his mind making a quick journey through the hell it would have been to ask Camille if he could have a boyfriend on the side when they were together.

“Lucky, handsome, smart, open-minded...it’s hardly fair,” Eric mused.

“That. And good at hockey, too,” Jack added, and Eric grinned and shook his head and sped on.

*

“Bitty. That’s Jack Zimmermann.”

A lanky blond, sunglasses perched on his head, one too many buttons undone on his tight button-down, was staring at Jack as they approached.

Jack nodded. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“You said you met someone named Jack. You just said _named Jack_ , Bits.”

Jack glanced over at Eric, who was rolling his eyes. His friends were already seated at a table, drinks in front of them. The restaurant had open patio seating, and it was just warm enough for them to take a table outside. 

“Jack, this is Adam, and this is Justin.”

The other man, a handsome black man with salt and pepper hair and an official looking hospital name badge clipped to his shirt pocket, stood up to shake Jack’s hand. 

“Great to meet you. Please ignore Adam. We can’t take him anywhere.”

“You can take me anywhere, babe. But if one of my heroes, who we had not _one_ , but _two_ posters of in our college dorm room, Justin, just happens to be the guy our friend ditched us for last night, I can’t make any promises.” Adam stood up and shook Jack’s hand as well. “Sorry, I’ll stop being an idiot any second now.”

“He won’t,” Justin said with a grin.

“No problem. It’s great to meet you,” Jack said. 

“I told y'all I was working on this hockey spot, didn’t I?” Eric asked, his cheeks starting to glow pink as he pulled up a chair. Jack settled in next to him, wondering if Eric was regretting this idea. Jack resisted an intense urge to reach out and rest his hand on Eric’s knee.

“Oh yeah, how was the shoot?” Justin asked, taking a sip of what looked like iced tea, looking back and forth between Jack and Eric like he was trying to decide what to think. 

“Went well,” Eric said, and Jack nudged Eric's foot under the table. “I...can’t complain.”

“I guess not,” Adam snorted, wide eyes still staring at Jack. “Holy shit. Jack Fucking Zimmermann.”

“Can we please just order?” Eric said, diving behind his menu. "I have a meeting at one."

Eric’s cheeks were flaming red at this point, and Jack couldn’t hold in a little grin. He'd been in locker rooms for long enough to know what was needed at this point.

"He's tired because we didn't get much sleep last night," Jack added, grabbing his menu and not looking up. 

The entire table froze, and out of the corner of his eye Jack could see Adam and Justin exchanging glances across the table. "Did...you just..." Adam let out, haltingly. 

Eric let his head fall into his hands. "Oh lord, Jack Zimmermann, you did not," he said, and then broke up laughing. Jack let his hand reach out and squeeze Eric's knee at last. 

"Did you just chirp yourself, Zimmermann?" Adam asked, shaking his head and laughing right along with Eric. 

"Sweet," Justin said, sipping of his tea, and sitting back, a sly grin on his face.

Once the ice had been broken, the rest of the lunch was easy. 

*


	8. Milo

“So what’s the story with your knee?” 

Lunch was winding down. Justin was still using his straw to swirl the ice in the bottom of his glass, and Adam was taking the final bites of his enormous Reuben. Jack swallowed the last piece of his chicken burger, half his attention on Justin’s question, the other half still occupied with the fact that Eric, Eric Bittle, who he'd woken up next to, naked, a few hours ago, was still right there, close enough for their knees to touch.

He hoped he was acting remotely reasonable. He really wished Marie and Paul were here to keep him in check.

“Surgery is in... two months? After my daughter graduates. I’m finally having the entire thing replaced,” Jack replied, biting into a fry. Casually, he hoped. 

“Sorry, man,” was Justin’s reply.

Jack caught a glimpse of Eric’s worried expression and had to look away. Shit.

“The docs tried to keep me together just repairing the injuries, but arthritis is so built up in there now.”

“How many surgeries have you had?” Eric asked, his voice low.

“Four,” Jack said, meeting Eric’s nervous gaze and getting a little worried itch that this was yet another mark against him in the long run. 

“Jesus,” Adam muttered. “Brutal sport. I don’t know how you lasted that long.” His arm was casually draped across the back of Justin’s chair. “My body was done with that shit when I was twenty-one.”

“Yeah, but I’ve heard joint replacements are like magic,” Justin added. “My uncle had his hip replaced last year. The pain was just... gone.”

“Lord almighty,” Eric said, sitting up, his voice suddenly much more chipper and loud. “Are we really this old? Are we actually talking about hip replacements over lunch?” 

Adam reached over and patted Eric on the shoulder. “Bits, my pal, we _are_ this old.”

Justin stretched his arms and said, “Yep. I was about to ask about AARP membership, but we’ll have to put that hot topic on ice for now. Sorry to break up the party for us elders, but I gotta get back to work.” He pushed back his chair. “Great to meet you, Jack.”

After they settled the bill, Adam held Jack back a moment before they threaded their way out of the restaurant. He leaned close, voice pitched low. “Bitty’s the best guy I know, Jack.”

Jack looked at Adam and nodded. 

“Just… needed to be sure you knew that.”

Jack nodded again, heart in his throat, and watched Adam walk away.

*

“Your friends call you Bitty.”

They had been mostly quiet since settling back into Eric’s car. Jack’s mind was whirling, caught between the utter certainty that this thing starting with Eric was real, and the clear reality that they hardly knew each other and it was all bound to fail.

Eric glanced over from the driver’s seat. “They do.”

“Even Shonda did, yesterday.”

“It’s my old hockey nickname, actually.” Eric said, sounding a bit chagrined. “Which I know does nothing to explain Shonda. Or everyone else I work with.”

“Huh. Do you… Is that what you like to be called?” 

Eric was quiet for a moment. “I like it when you call me Eric,” he said.

Jack’s heart didn’t know what to make of that.

“Why’s that?” 

“Because…” Eric’s voice was hesitant. “...no one else really does.”

Jack had to look out the side window for a minute. “Oh.”

“That okay?” Eric was focused on his driving.

“Yeah, sure,” Jack replied. 

The silence in the car felt thick, like they both had words they wanted to say but couldn’t quite get out.

Thankfully, Jack’s phone buzzed.

 **Marie** _Home from school. Mom’s watching a cooking show. Paul and Milo are locked in his room. I can smell the emo from here. I’m heading in for a skate._

Jack shook his head. “Sorry, my kid again.”

“I don’t mind, Jack.” 

Jack dashed off a reply, trying to keep himself composed.

 **Jack** _Got it._

“Everything okay?” Eric asked. 

“Yeah. Marie’s just checking in. She does that a lot when I’m gone. When I'm home, too.”

Eric smiled and veered around a slow SUV. “You talk about your daughter all the time. What’s your son like?”

Jack considered the question for a moment. Paul, the quiet artist, who Jack understood far more easily than he did his extroverted, socially-skilled daughter. 

“He’s a neat kid.” Then without thinking too hard, he continued. “I’m pretty sure he’s in love with his friend Milo.” Jack hadn’t voiced this thought out loud to anyone yet, not even Marie. “He went silent on us about three months ago, and something’s going on. I just… I’m not good at this part.”

“Oh my,” Eric said. “Well, he knows about you, right?”

Jack nodded, “Yeah, but I haven’t dated any men that he’s aware of. So he knows in theory, but I don’t think that means anything.”

Eric immediately put on his indicator and swerved into the parking lot of the strip mall they were driving past. Jack jolted against his seat belt as Eric parked in the nearest open spot.

Eric grabbed his phone off the dash and held it out. “Take a picture with me, Jack.” 

The change in mood and subject was so sudden that Jack could feel himself shut down. “Huh?”

“Come on.” Eric was nudging over from the driver’s seat as far as he could manage, his arm around Jack’s shoulders, tugging him close. They hadn’t touched like that in a few hours, and Jack’s whole body shivered at the contact.

“Just… Here, look at me.” 

Jack turned his face to Eric, who was right there, and Eric kissed him, firm and purposeful and deep, tongue prying in and trying to convey something meaningful that Jack could not quite understand but that he really, really liked. Jack let himself open up and kiss Eric hard, right back.

“Oh lord help me,” Eric said, as they broke apart. “Now look at the camera, honey.”

Jack’s entire body felt floaty and unreal as he turned his head and leaned up against Eric while he held out his phone and took a couple of shots.

Eric put his phone down, grabbed Jack’s jaw and turned his head to kiss him again. “I really do not want to go into work,” he muttered. 

Jack let himself laugh a little, until he felt the seat behind him again, and the ache in his knee.

Eric slid back over into the driver’s seat and fussed with his phone for a moment. 

"You just _directed_ that selfie," Jack observed.

Eric snorted, and gave Jack a quick wink. “Okay, I forwarded the best one to you.” Eric plugged his phone back in and put the car in drive. They sped out of the parking lot. “Now you should send it to your kids.” 

“Huh?” Jack’s brain was still a bit fogged from whatever had just happened.

“To Paul.”

Jack looked down at the photo on his screen. Eric’s cheek was pressed up against his, and they both were flushed and smiling. Whatever else Jack had to say about the photo (like how much he wished that big crease between his brows was not so visible, or how good the framing was, or how beautiful Eric Bittle was and that he might stare at this picture all day), there was no doubt it was a picture of two people who were really into each other. 

“Then your life won’t just be in theory anymore,” Eric added. 

Oh. _Oh._

Jack’s fingers hovered over his phone screen for a moment, his mind a whirl of thoughts: distance and reality and teenagers and coming out and falling in love and being a father. But mostly, being a father. Jack took a deep breath.

“It’s not a casual thing, Eric. To introduce you to my kids. Even just a photo,” Jack said at last. He couldn’t put them through this. It’s why he hadn’t dated for so many years. The hope, and then the disappointment. Jack couldn’t do it to them.

Eric’s eyes never left the road. They were almost back to Jack’s hotel. “This doesn’t feel like a casual thing to me.”

Jack couldn’t look up, or speak. He just opened his texts and attached the photo.

 **Jack** _This is Eric Bittle. Hope you both get to meet him someday._

He hit send, and then took a breath. 

“Me neither,” Jack said. 

*


	9. Alone

**Marie** _Oh my god. He’s so handsome, Dad. Oh my god._

 **Marie** _You look really happy._

 **Marie** _Does he like hockey? I want to meet him so bad._

 **Marie** _Did you send this to Gramma?_

 **Marie** _Do you think he’ll come visit sometime?_

*

After a rushed goodbye as Eric’s work call came in, Jack had made it up to his hotel room and collapsed in an exhausted heap on his pristine bed. When he woke up an hour later, dazed but refreshed, his phone was a mass of texts. Amidst the thrilled reactions from Marie was one short note from Paul.

 **Paul** _Is he your boyfriend now or something?_

Jack splashed some water on his face and did a couple of stretches before tackling responding to them both. First to Marie:

 **Jack** _He used to play hockey in college, and no I’ve only shared this with you two. I don’t know about visits. And yes, he’s very handsome._

Then, after quite a bit of thought, to Paul:

 **Jack** _I don’t know yet. But I really like him so far._

Jack didn’t hear back from either of them right away, so he put his phone down and settled on the suite’s little sofa to elevate his leg and consider what to do with himself for the next few hours. Eric was going to text him around six, when he was finished at work, but that still left five long hours to fill. He could just read here in his room, or maybe take himself out to some tourist attraction. Or…

His phone buzzed. Jack hefted himself up to retrieve it from his nightstand.

It was Paul again.

 **Paul** _How would you even know if he was your boyfriend?_

Jack stared at the text and sank down on the edge of the bed, his eyes a sudden blur of tears. 

Jack had suspected about Paul for several years now, just little things, like the way he never used gendered pronouns when teasing his sister about crushes, or the intensity of his male friendships versus his large, casual group of female friends. And then there was the sudden change in his friendship with Milo, from boisterous and public and physical, to silent and hidden in Paul’s room, almost overnight. But Jack had assumed that was just him projecting his own shit onto his kid, something he'd consciously worked so hard to avoid with Marie and hockey, but where he had to catch himself all of the time with Paul. Their similarities were so much more fundamental, but far less obvious.

He hoped he had the right things to say, now that Paul was asking.

 **Jack** _I think we would talk about it._

Jack didn’t really expect to hear anything back, but he gripped his phone and stared at it hopefully nonetheless. Then a text appeared. 

**Paul** _Isn’t it hard to talk about?_

Jack laughed aloud to himself, so relieved he almost couldn’t type for a moment.

 **Jack** _Yes._

He hit send, and then realized he needed to add something he wished someone had told him when he was fifteen.

 **Jack** _But you have to anyway._

 **Paul** _That sucks._

Jack laughed again.

 **Jack** _Yep._

 **Paul** _I’m never doing that._

 **Jack** _When you meet someone you really like, you’ll actually want to talk to them, kiddo. Even when it’s hard._

 **Paul** _Fine, whatever. You’re home tomorrow, right?_

 **Jack** _Yes. Late. Why?_

It took several minutes before Paul’s reply came through. 

**Paul** _Just checking._

*

It took Jack’s pulse another fifteen minutes to calm back down after the conversation with Paul. He hadn’t truly recognized how anxious he had been about Paul until now, when he could feel the relief flood through him that Paul was starting to open back up. 

His phone remained silent. Jack decided to take advantage of the hotel lap pool to get a little exercise. 

Years ago, his physical therapist had started him swimming, right after his injury, to keep up his conditioning when they all thought he could still get back out and play a few more seasons. That hadn’t happened, of course, but he had learned to love the pool, especially as he knee worsened. Getting all of his weight off it in the water was one of the only times he truly felt relief from the nagging pain. 

In recent years, he hadn’t been great about keeping up with a regular workout schedule, however. A few laps in, and Jack’s breath was already coming fast, his heart rate up. He wanted to be angry with himself, if he could only catch his breath to do it.

He tried instead to let his mind drift while his body worked.

He’d met someone. Eric. Bitty. He really liked him, and in the twenty four hours they’d known each other, Jack felt like his world had rearranged to fit in the idea of this new person. If he was honest with himself (and here, plowing slowly through the water, there was no reason not to be honest), he'd already planned out several scenarios for seeing Eric again: flying him out to Providence, coming back to LA soon, meeting somewhere else, a cabin, or a beach, anywhere (maybe Chicago? that was right in the middle). He could rent a place and surprise Eric with a trip. Although Jack didn’t really know how his schedule worked, or if he liked surprises. He’d have to learn that.

And he wanted his kids to meet him, sometime. When they were all ready. Even though Marie obviously was ready to meet him yesterday. 

God, what was he going to do with her off to college next year?

From Marie, he let his thoughts meander to Paul again, to first loves and all of the confusion and thrill that came with finally letting another person know how much you cared about them. The first touches, first kisses. How much that feeling hadn’t really changed for Jack, even all of these years later. 

He pulled himself out of the pool, still thinking about firsts.

When he was dried off and dressed again, he still had four hours of free time. Fuck it, he might as well. It was what he’d originally planned to do with this day anyway. 

* 

**Jack** _Hey, I’m in town and have the afternoon free. You around?_

Jack’s thumb hovered over send for a long time before he finally pressed it.

The response came surprisingly fast.

 **Parse** _Holy Shit. Hang on, I’m calling you in five._

Jack let out a breath. 

Ten years ago, after almost a decade of silence, Jack had contacted Kent Parson from his hospital bed, his leg still in traction. Even now, he couldn’t explain to himself exactly why he’d called Kent right then. He suspected it had something to do with needing to talk to someone who knew, deep down, how much hockey meant to him. And no one ever knew that better than Kenny. 

Four years ago, Kent had retired to Malibu after his twenty year career in Vegas. They weren’t friends now, exactly. But their history was so deep, Jack couldn’t entirely let him go. It was comforting how, with all of the years now passed, Jack mostly remembered the good times: the Cup run, long summer nights staying with Kent’s family up at their camp, the years in the Q living in each other’s back pockets, before things got so hard. The crap between them had faded to a small blip on the radar of their relationship. Seeing Kenny was like seeing his childhood again, just for a moment.

He’d planned to contact Kent when he first took the commercial, but then, somehow, he just didn’t. Then he thought he’d leave it to chance, once he was here. Better than make a big deal out of seeing each other, maybe? 

Jack’s phone rang. 

“Zimms? Dude, you’re in town?”

Kent’s voice was just the same.

“Yes. I’m staying downtown. Are you free?”

“Fuck. I’m up in Santa Barbara for a few days. How long are you out?”

Jack felt his shoulders sag at the fact that Kent was out of town. He wasn’t sure if it was from regret, or relief.

“I leave tomorrow morning.”

“Well. Shit. Wish I could see you.”

“Yeah, that’s too bad.”

There was a brief pause, and Jack could feel them both deciding where to take the conversation, if this was all they were going to get. 

“What are you doing in Santa Barbara?” Jack asked.

Kent huffed out a laugh. “Just...hanging out with this guy.”

Jack felt his neck heat. “Oh. Sorry, did I...I don’t want to interrupt...” 

“Nah, it’s fine, Zimms. You're not interrupting.” Kent expertly changed the subject. “What the hell are you doing in LA? You hate it out here.” 

“Alain set me up with an ad. Had to come out for the shoot.”

“Oh god, Alain. Can you still not tell him no?”

Jack shrugged into that warm feeling he got talking to Kent sometimes now, where something as simple as just knowing Jack’s entire history with his agent could be wrapped up in one sentence. “It’s a shitload of money, Parse, and I got to visit the Krugmans while I was here.” And maybe fall for someone. But Jack didn’t say that.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Zimms,” Kent chirped, and Jack laughed.

“So how’s retirement, Parse?” Jack asked.

“Good some days. Miss everything else all of the other days.”

Jack nodded, even though Kent couldn’t see him. “Yeah.”

“How’re the kids? Still can’t believe you are somebody’s dad. Shit.”

“Yeah, they are good. Marie’s graduating in May. She’s going to play for UPenn in the fall.”

“That’s sweet. Proud papa, huh?” Jack murmured an agreement, and then Kent went on. “You… um… seeing anyone?” Kent asked. 

The warmth already creeping up Jack’s neck traveled to his cheeks. Somehow, telling Kent about Eric, even vaguely, felt like a moment. “Yeah, actually.”

“Cool,” Kent replied. 

“Yeah,” Jack didn’t supply any more details, and he really did not need to know any more about some guy in Santa Barbara. 

“I guess I should let you go,” Jack said, after a brief pause.

“Okay, Zimms. Sure. Say hey to Bob and Alicia for me.” 

Jack was about to say goodbye, when Kent continued, his voice suddenly changed, more familiar and quiet. “And Zimms?”

“Yeah?”

“Call me sooner next time, huh?”

Jack swallowed hard. “Yeah, okay. I will, Kenny.” 

The call ended. Jack stared out into the bright LA sunshine, and remembered.

*

In the end, Jack settled in with his book, a spy thriller Marie had bought him last Christmas, and let the hours pass by in distraction. Eric’s text came in just after six.

 **Eric** _Finished for the day!_

 **Eric** _You still want to get together tonight?_

 **Eric** _I hope?_

Jack’s entire nervous system lit up seeing Eric’s name in his texts. 

**Jack** _Yeah. Definitely. Of course. Had an interesting day I want to tell you about._

Jack was pulling on his shoes when Eric texted back.

 **Eric** _Well I had a bullshit day, but I want to tell you about that too, honey. Be there in ten minutes._

Jack grabbed his cane and was already out the door.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has been leaving wonderful, inspiring comments. I have read and appreciated them all!


	10. Venice

**Jack** _Thought you guys might like this shot. Venice Beach at sunset. [photo attached]_

 **Marie** _Nice one, Dad! Looks pretty romantic. Just saying. *wink*_

 **Paul** _It’s snowing here. [photo attached]_

 **Jack** _Nice shot, kiddo._

 **Marie** _That looks pretty romantic, too, bro._

 **Paul** _F off, Marie._

 **Marie** _F off yourself, get a sense of humor asswipe_

 **Jack** _Whoa children. Go to your rooms._

 **Marie** _It’s chill dad. sorry._

 **Marie** _We’re just really ready for you to get home._

 **Jack** _I guess I’ll have to remember to bring my coat on the plane, eh?_

*

Despite Jack’s terror, he’d survived Eric driving them out to the ocean. In the car, Eric had entertained Jack with a dramatic retelling of his hysterically idiotic meeting with the luxury car client. Jack had told Eric about his swim and about his talk with Paul. And then about Kent, even though Jack’s heart stuttered a bit as he did. Eric had just listened, and nodded, and swerved through traffic, and at the end said, “Honey, I think I might be a bit green with envy that you have a friend that’s been around for so long in your life. That’s a treasure.”

Jack had to remind his heart, for the tenth time in a few hours, that he had just met Eric the day before. 

When they’d arrived at the beach, there was a light spring breeze coming in, and the sky was streaked with peach and bright blue. 

Eric had held his hand and they’d headed down to the water, but the walk had been cut frustratingly short by Jack’s knee acting up in the sand. They’d taken an easier, paved route back through the sunset crowd to a bistro set a block from the beach. Now, an hour later, their plates had been cleared away and Eric had ordered himself a glass of port. They were planning to split the cheesecake. 

Jack was leaving in eleven hours.

“So you had a girlfriend named Camilla, and then married a woman named Camille?” 

“It was never as confusing as you are imagining.”

Eric’s eyes twinkled their deep brown in the candlelight. Jack stared across the table at the sweet laugh lines that appeared when he was amused.

“Well, honey, I once dated three guys in a row named Jeff, so I guess I don’t believe you. Because that was a damn shitshow of confusion.” 

Jack hadn’t had anything to drink except water, but he was buzzed on the fact that whatever had started with Eric the day before was still in full force now, even though every moment was tinged with the question of what was next. 

Jack laughed anyway. “One of them was a laid-back blonde tennis player, and one was a high-strung French-Canadian model who I married. Plus, their names sound nothing alike, really.”

Eric huffed and sipped his port. “Tell that to Jeff number three.”

Jack had to bite his lip to keep from cracking up again. 

His phone buzzed. 

Eric quirked his head to one side, smiling. “Kids?”

“Just updating me on the weather.”

Jack pulled up Paul’s photo, a shot from their front porch in Providence, the falling snow highlighted by the street light as it came down. He held it out for Eric to see.

“Is that happening right now? Gosh, that’s gorgeous.”

A little hard stone of sadness lodged in Jack’s chest. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

It fell quiet for a moment. Jack fussed with his phone and then tucked it away again. 

“Jack?” 

Eric’s voice was soft. Jack wasn’t sure if he’d heard this tone from him yet. 

“Yeah?”

“I kinda wanna be presumptuous again, sweetheart.” 

Jack let his gaze drift up to meet Eric’s. Eric licked his lips and Jack’s chest ached. 

“Alright,” he managed. 

Eric folded his arms onto the table and leaned across, close. “So, I have a few more days on your spot, and then I’m signed on to another job right after, another car thing. I have to go up north for a week for the shoot, and then there will be post...”

Jack felt himself nodding, even though he was not entirely sure what Eric was talking about. 

“Point is, honey, after that I haven’t taken any other jobs yet. So.”

Jack felt like he was holding his breath. “So… ?”

Eric swallowed hard enough for Jack to see it. “So, I’d have time to come out. For a while.”

“To… Providence?”

Eric pressed his lips together and nodded. “If you’d want me to.”

The rest of the little restaurant disappeared, leaving nothing but their table and the candlelight and Eric’s soft gaze and this offer of something real. Jack couldn’t speak for a moment. 

“Jack?”

Jack reminded himself to inhale. “Yeah. I’d want you to.”

Eric stared at Jack a moment and then looked away, his cheeks growing red. “Well, before you say that you should know that I can get real catty when I’m tired or I have a job I hate, which is often, and I have a terrible relationship with my family that sometimes turns into drama so I don’t talk to them much. And I secretly drink too much Coke and I sometimes stay up all night reading shit about ghost sightings on the Internet, and my last boyfriend dumped me because he said I was never _quote_ “real with him”, whatever the hell that means. And I’m gonna be fucking forty years old next year, and I know I’ve been on the wrong path in my life for years and not doing anything to change it, and I don’t think I’ve ever actually really been in love with anyone...”

Jack felt his smile grow as Eric went on, his face flushed and panicky. When he finally took a breath, Jack reached out and grabbed Eric’s hand in his own, and squeezed. 

“Eric, stop. I want you to.”

Eric stopped talking and grabbed hold of Jack’s other hand across the table. “Yeah?”

“Trust me, I’ve got that list, too.” 

“I’m too old to pretend, is the thing. I really like you, Jack, and I don’t want you to leave tomorrow not knowing that.”

Jack was painfully aware that he was a dad with a difficult ex-wife and a bad knee and aging parents who needed him all the time and a lot of baggage from his past, but somehow, he had a feeling none of that was going to matter too much. 

“I spent most of today trying to figure out how we could see each other again soon, Eric, so please come and meet my kids and stay with us for as long as you can.” 

“Alright.” Eric’s eyes were glinting with tears. 

Jack squeezed his hands again. “And hey, I’m turning forty-four this year, bud, and so far my forties are turning out pretty good.” Even with all of the shit. Or maybe because of it.

Eric shook his head, laughing a little. “Fine. Just be like that, Zimmermann.” He pulled one hand away from Jack’s and wiped at his eyes. “Shit. I’m texting Shonda that she’s my favorite person in the world, and then honey, I’m just gonna go ahead and book a ticket right now.”

While Eric went for his phone, Jack sat back and let the world settle into place around him again.

The waiter arrived with the cheesecake. 

*

Eric had had a couple drinks, so Jack drove on the way back.

“It’s a really great room with a nice view and a huge bed that hasn’t even been slept in,” Jack said, watching Eric out of the corner of his eye. 

“Well I know the assholes who are paying for you to stay in that room, so it seems a shame not to use it.”

“I’m happy to go back to your place, too,” Jack said. He honestly didn’t care where they went, as long as they went there together. 

“Honestly, honey, I do not care where we go, so long as we go there together,” Eric said, placing a tempting hand high on Jack’s thigh. 

Jack just barely managed to stay on the road.

*

They made it in the door of the hotel room, but not much farther before Eric was all over Jack, kissing him so deeply Jack could hardly see straight, pulling off his shirt and unbuckling his jeans before he’d even set his cane down or stepped out of his shoes. 

Jack wasn’t quite sure what the rush was, but he didn’t feel any need to slow the train down either. He didn’t bounce back like he used to, but he’d been wanting to feel Eric’s skin against him all day. So what if he came right away? He’d be happy to lie around in bed with Eric the rest of the night, just being together, talking, touching him. Being touched. 

Crisse.

“Get those shoes off, hockey man,” Eric hissed into Jack’s ear, his tongue tickling Jack’s earlobe and making him shiver. 

Jack toed off his shoes while Eric kissed down his throat and along his collarbone. 

“I think you should start up your vlog again,” Jack muttered into Eric’s hair, pulling at the buttons of Eric’s shirt. 

Eric continued working his way down Jack’s body. “What’s this now, sweetheart?” he mouthed against Jack’s belly.

Jack eased them over towards the edge of the bed so he could sit down and get pressure off his knee. “Your path. Get back on it.”

Eric stood up between Jack’s knees, his shirt half off, his brows pulled together like he wasn’t sure what Jack was talking about. “I gave up on all that a long time ago, honey.”

"Maybe it's time for a new start."

Eric stared with his big brown eyes, not blinking. "Lord, where did you come from, Jack Zimmermann?" 

Jack raised his eyebrows and then leaned in to tickle at Eric's nipple with his teeth. 

"Canada," he replied.

Eric laughed and tackled Jack backwards onto the bed, and Jack let himself fall.

*

Too early in the morning, they stood outside Departures together just long enough for a hug and brief kiss. Anything else was too much, too soon. But still.

“Well. I’m really glad I took this job,” Jack said, picking up his overnight bag. 

“Me too,” Eric replied.

"See you three weeks."

Eric nodded, and held Jack's hand.

Jack had to walk away quickly, and he couldn’t look back.

*

 **Jack** _Boarding now. See you soon._

 **Marie** _Okay!_

 **Marie** _Was it hard to say goodbye to Eric?_

 **Jack** _Yes_

 **Marie** _Aww. Poor dad._

 **Jack** _I’ll tell you all about him when I get home._

 **Marie** _You will? EEEE! I’m so happy for you._

**Marie** _Mom headed out. Paul and I will come pick you up so text me when you land. I love you Dad._

 **Jack** _Love you too, Squirt._

*

 **Eric** _So, my forties are gonna be good, huh?_

Jack grinned to no one and stared in wonder out the window at the tarmac.

 **Jack** _Yeah, bud. The best._

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***
> 
> This has been so much fun to write! I have an entire sequel planned in my mind, although I have no idea if I'm ever going to have time to write it. One can dream... ;)  
> Thank you everyone who has followed this little bit of happy fluff so far!  
> *hugs*


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